


My Republic for a Holopad

by Ward1123



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-12-21 07:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11939436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ward1123/pseuds/Ward1123
Summary: Short series about a soldier who abandons his official duties. All because of her.





	1. In The Trenches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hunith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hunith/gifts).



The ground was erupting again. Clods of dirt rained down around the two rows men seated across from each other in the trench. Were it not for the expressionless facade of their white helmets, it may have been possible to detect consternation growing among the Clones. The shelling hadn't been this close to their hastily burrowed defenses in days.

Nearby, a human Jedi Padawan seemingly didn't share their concern. He was merely sitting in the muddy depths in his disheveled and pock marked tunic that had certainly seen better days, much like the Jedi student himself. Failing to wear adequate blast armor was a practice that still baffled the troopers.

A combination of dusk, the overcast sky and the turbolaser fire that rained down through it to toss up the earth made it difficult to make out the Jedi's features, which were largely unremarkable at best. A human male with shortly cropped brown hair, apart from the ceremonial braid, and eyes that matched the color of the perpetually storm-wracked skies of the planet.

His focus was down at a small, metallic disk in his hand that was emitting a shakey, holographic depiction of a woman that returned his blank gaze of longing with a pre-recorded, smirking one of her own. Blue-green light from the hologram illuminated the pallid, tired looking visage that peered eagerly at the recording. The small image flickered as the projection was continuously interrupted by smoke and falling ash.

Despite all that, the recording dutifully played, and the hologram mouthed inaudible words as its audience of one frowned down at it. The audio emitters on the device went out a few cycles ago but it never failed to disappoint the young Jedi when her voice failed to accompany the movement of her lips.

She was saying something snide about not getting himself blown up, if he recalled correctly. The remembrance elicited a half-smile from the Padawan. Inclining his gaze to the edge of the trench, he thought to himself, so far, so good, as more turbolaser fire passed overhead to form new craters around their line.

Looking back down, he heaved a sigh as he silently wished he had some way of replying to the message.

His wish was swiftly interrupted by a deafening roar and concussive force as his world turned a grey-black and his hearing left him in favor of a sharp ringing. He instinctively pushed himself off of his stomach at the bottom of the trench. They'd been hit.

Blinking ferociously he tried to clear his vision of the thick and acrid smoke. He felt a gloved hand on his shoulder and was just barely able to make out the visor of the Clone Trooper attempting to shake him back to his senses. If the trooper was saying something, the Jedi couldn't hear him.

He brushed the soldier's hand free and began to pat himself down for any sign of injury. He was still more or less intact, it seemed.

Wait. Where is it? No, no, no, no!

He found himself blinding digging around in the soft ashy dirt freshly deposited in the foot of the trench. His eyes still burned too much to keep open.

The ringing in his ears began to be replaced with cries for help from down the line.

Ignore it.

He gnarled his fingers as he raked through the dirt.

 

> "Sir, we've got to pull back!" Came an all too familiar voice from over his shoulder.

He wasn't going anywhere. It was right here. He had a grip on it. It couldn't have gotten far.

 

> "Sir-"
> 
> "We can't move while they're firing," the Padawan snapped out the justification hastily, not bothering to pause his excavation.
> 
> "They've ceased firing. We have to regroup for-"
> 
> "Go then, I'll be along in a tick."
> 
> "I'll set my chrono," the trooper grumbled before disappearing into the burning black mist that still hung in the trench.

The Jedi ignored the quip and kept looking. The trooper was right, though, the turbolaser fire had ceased and an eerie quiet had replaced it to the point where the desperate huffs of exertion from the Jedi's digging through the muck sounded deafening.

After what felt like forever, his fingers finally closed over the holoprojector. The pop of blasterfire arose from down the line and the rolling smoke began to light up with flashes of red and blue that made it look like CorSec was doing a bust.

A typical Separatist maneuver. Shell the area and then send in the droids. The Jedi tried to convince himself that getting his holopad back was worth it as the first battle droid dropped into the trench.

The B2 "clanker" was followed by two more of the same. They had practically jumped straight over the Padawan. The machines possibly dismissed the dirt encrusted man as a corpse. He certainly played the part well, keeping himself pressed up against the jagged wall of the fortification long enough to safely stow his prodigal holopad in a pocket and unhook his Lightsaber from his utility belt.

It was time to add his own colors to the deadly display in the acrid fog. He narrowed his eyes and sprung at the droids from the side of the wall, thumbing the activation button on his weapon.


	2. Encampment

> "That was more than a tick."

The Padawan looked up as he walked in to the main entrance of the large, camouflaged pavilion that made up their forward encampment. Though, in reality, he didn't need to see who the voice came from as he unenthusiastically recited.

> "A Jedi arrives precisely when he means to."

The Trooper let out a self amused and practiced chuckle, as he always did when they shared those exact words in the past.

Night had fallen as the Jedi arrived and the encampment was illuminated by an array of glowlamps kept at a dull flicker to avoid shining beyond the coverage of the canopy above and providing a target for enemy artillery spotters. Insects fluttered around the bulbs causing speckled shadows to dance across the sides of the large tent.

> "What's our status, Threes?" the Jedi asked the clone casually using the Trooper's earned nickname as he looked around at the sorry state of affairs. Those who weren't being treated by medical droids and personnel looked either exhausted or underequipped.
> 
> "We're pretty banged up, commander, but we can still fight."

As the trooper spoke, the Jedi glanced over to see another Clone sitting on his helmet with his face buried in his hands. The Padawan had difficulty determining whether the soldier was among the tired or the wounded. Perhaps it was both, as it was in most cases. Either way, most of the unit was in similar shape so the answer he got out of Threes was hardly convincing.

> "Right. Take care of your men, Captain. We're going to hold here for now until reinforced or relieved."
> 
> Threes nodded understanding, "yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

They parted ways, then. The Jedi in search of what privacy he could locate within the camouflage canopy covered encampment.

He ducked through a partition in the wall of the tent that lead to what could laughingly be called their unit's barracks; a row of cots shoved into the corner of the square hole they dug for the camp and walled in by supply crates and the draped partition from whence he just stepped.

Another trooper sat upon one of the olive drab colored cots, cleaning the caked mud from his standard issue E6 blaster rifle. Hearing the rustling of fabric, the soldier glanced up and offered him a nod.

> "Commander," he greeted casually without getting up or even ceasing to tend to his tarnished weapon.

It was status quo to not demand any unnecessary ceremony while on the front. Snapping to or saluting usually just gave the clankers a good idea on who to fry first.

> "Corporal," the Jedi replied with a quickly passing, weak smile. "I think Captain Threes could really use your help out front."
> 
> "Of course, sir," the Clone quickly replied, scooping up his helmet to slip back on, which caused the next part of his reply to seem more mechanical, "sorry, sir."

The Jedi raised a hand to stay off the concern,

> "No call to be sorry, just more of the men are making it back from the line and could use an extra hand getting resupplied or patched up."

The trooper slung his half-clean rifle and made his way to the main section of the tent without another word, prompting the Jedi to let out a small sigh of relief. He didn't mind the Clone Troopers, but he savored any chance to indulge in small stretches of isolation.

Alighting himself on his designated cot, the Padawan allowed himself a moment to relax. It had been a long day. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to focus on the invisible threads that made up the weave that connected him to his surroundings. He was tired and needed to find some time to meditate, that much was certain. Despite that, he made a point of expending some energy to tweak at his aura into temporarily making himself a somewhat unwelcome presence. That should, he hoped, subconsciously deter any of the other occupants of the pavilion from the desire to detour into the barracks.

Elsewhere in the tent, a Clone who had previously decided to turn in for the night let out a scowl as the idea became unattractive to him. Turning away from the entrance to the barracks, he inexplicably had the desire to inventory their food rations instead.

Satisfied that his privacy would be maintained for the time being, the Padawan opened his eyes again and fished the holopad from the pocket of his tunic, and pressed the activator switch on the side.

A sharply distorted figure existed in the air above the device for only a moment before vanishing. The Jedi frowned.

He pressed the activator again and again. Nothing happened. Only a fizzling sound of circuitry as the device succumbed to whatever damage it had clearly sustained during the shelling earlier that day.

A lump began to swell in his throat and he quickly passed the sleeve of his free hand over his eyes to combat a growing moisture there.

She was gone. The holopad slipped from his grasp into the dirt between his boots. Tossing his hands up, the Padawan interlaced his fingers behind his head as if surrendering to some unseen enemy.

He bowed his head under the pull of his arms and choked out a repetitive whisper,

> "I can't do this. I can't do this."

After a moment, he finally caught his breath and picked up the holopad and held it out before him, glaring at the air above it.

It was harder than he thought it would be to imagine her hologram looking back at him. Hard to remember her features.

It was easier than he thought it would be to decide what he was going to do next.

He exploded into action with a newfound energy of abandon, lifting himself from the cot and simultaneously re-concealing the pad in his pocket. Circling to the foot of the bed, he kneeled to pop open his footlocker.

He grabbed out the leather pouch housing his datapad and hooked it onto his belt along with his hooded cloak. Draping the cloak over his arm for now he looked down at the rest of his belongings and shook his head before standing. He left them behind.

He left them all behind.


	3. Spaceport

Grimacing, the Jedi pulled his cloak more tightly around him in vain effort to shut out the early morning chill. The cold bit harder here in the spaceport than it did on the front. Perhaps, he thought in passing as he wove his way through the crowd, it was because the area wasn't often warmed by cannonfire.

The spaceport was packed as usual. Long lines of displaced civilians turned refugees waited either for a chance to board one of the government provided evacuation ships or to trade what little they had left for space on privately run cargo haulers headed off-world. There wasn't a chance that the AWOL Padawan was getting on one of those ships without at least a day or two of waiting.

So, he altered course for one of the smaller freighters landed on the fringes of the port. As anyone drew nearer to the edge of "official landing platforms" they could see a literal shift into questionable activities. Trash that skittered across the permacrete went unchecked by cleaning droids, mysterious crates lacked bills of lading, and cargo was often watched over by mercs and thugs with a common taste in oversized blaster rifles. There were no refugees in this side of the port. Well, except for the Jedi.

While strolling past freighters and the malcontent glares of hired guns, the Jedi was nearly ran over by a scrawny looking Rodian pushing a gravsled topped by a few plasteel shipping containers. The insect-like alien chittered something at him as he jumped back and allowed the sled to pass. He didn't have so much of a basic grasp of Rodian but one didn't need to be Force sensitive to deduce that the exclamation probably wasn't a thank you.

The Rodian pushed the sled toward the boarding ramp of one of the lined up freighters. This ship differed from the others in that its cargo hold and ramp faced toward the bow of the ship. The ramp was flanked by the hungry mouths of two massive turbines, which were beginning to crescendo to life and take in air to ignite the engines. Unlike the others, this freighter was preparing to leave. Made for a good choice in transport.

The Rodian stopped the gravsled long enough for an enormous man seated at the base to lean over the right armrest of his hoverchair to scan a codesticker on the side of one of the crates.

The man straightened back up, if you could call readopting his slouched position that, and resumed working on his datapad under the shade of a parasail held by a droid at his flank. The droid was a dilapidated nightmare and looked like an amalgamation of spare parts from the freighter's engine, a ship that didn't look much better than the bot, combined with five other droids. It stood motionless, one of its three upper appendages extended to keep a parasail raised in defense over its rotund master. As the Jedi watched the scene in amusement he silently wondered what exactly there was to shade the man from, as hardly any direct sunlight ever managed to slice through the cloud layer.

The Rodian had made it up the ramp and shoved the sled through the opening at the top into the cargo hold, disappearing past a rather smug looking Devaronian who leaned on the bulkhead and surveyed the approach to the ship over a EE3 Blaster Carbine he had cradled in his arms like a newborn. A newborn capable of delivering pinpoint lethality from up to 500 meters away.

Undeterred, the Jedi approached the end of the boarding ramp and could see the red light in the photoreceptor of the droid grow to a finer point as it focused on him and was more than likely assessing whether or not he could be considered a threat. While it would undoubtedly be scanning for the wrong things, the Jedi didn't mind. He came in peace, this time.

Before he could open his mouth to address the man in the hoverchair, the larger humanoid spoke up,

> "No passengers," the spacer said without looking up from his work. However, he did bother to indicate down to his right using a slight motion of the chin, "read the sign."

In the direction indicated, there was indeed a sheet of durasteel propped against an spent power converter with lettering sprayed on that read:

**CARGO ONLY. NO PASSENGER SPACE.**

Similar addresses were displayed out front of all of the other freighters in that section of the spaceport, usually accompanied by a vulgar request for refugees to go about their business elsewhere.

> "I want to speak with the captain," the Jedi replied, unwilling to back down right away, "perhaps we can come to an arrangement."
> 
> "You are speakin' to 'im," the man growled, toggling off the display on his datapad to fold under a flabby arm while he glowered at the intruder, "or should I say you were, because you were just leavin'."

The Jedi let out an exasperated sigh. Meeting the freighter captain's stare, he conjured up what little stamina he had left to connect with the Living Force and passed a hand in front of the man's vision. When the Padawan spoke, he adopted a more melodic and pleasant tone,

> _"You are an intelligent businessman."_
> 
> "I-" the spacer started, his eyes slightly glazed but not utterly submissive until the Jedi sent another wave of suggestion through the Force. "I am an intelligent businessman."

Once the captain agreed, the Jedi rewarded the compliance with a slight sense of comfort and pleasure. Meanwhile, the Padawan had to suppress a smile for risk of shattering his concentration and influence over the man. The mind trick worked exactly as trained. Like the Masters said, it was always easier to convince someone of something that want to believe themselves.

> _"There is nothing wrong with making an exception for a well paying customer."_
> 
> "Nothin' wrong with an exception for a paying customer," the captain recited, but added to the Jedi's surprise, poking up an index finger, "but only for one jump."

The Jedi nodded, seeing the captain was on his side now. But not exactly fully. Perhaps he went overboard with that "intelligent businessman" bit. The one jump restriction may be problematic. Deciding against pressing the issue for risk of losing his flight, he accepted,

> "Name your price."

Tricking the mind of another was always regarded as a dubious use of the Force. It was especially frowned upon when employed for one's own ends. The Jedi internally shrugged off the conflict. Afterall, it wasn't that bad compared to abandoning a post assigned by the Council themselves. The spacer's reply shook the runaway from his thoughts.

> "One jump? Five-hundred credits."

The price was enough to make a common traveler have an anxiety attack, but this traveler was hardly common. He passed over his Republic issued credit chip without delay, allowing the captain to scan it into his datapad and charge the agreed upon amount.

The hoverchair bound man passed the chip back and let out an arching motion with his arm,

> "As y'can see from the engines we're just about gettin' outta here," he explained before craning his thick neck back as far as he could manage, "Lisk! Show this one to guest quarters."

The Devaronian plodded down the ramp, rifle over one shoulder and wearing a skeptical look,

> "Passengers?" The crewman hissed, "not a good idea."
> 
> "It's only for one jump. Just do it and be quick abou' it," the captain retorted curtly and splayed out all of the stubby fingers on his right hand, "we are gear up in five."

The Devaronian turned to the Jedi with a scornful look and beckoned him up the ramp. The Jedi took advantage of the moment to look over the crewman closely. The hired gun sported an unusually light-red complexion probably owed to long stretches in space. His disgruntled expression was marred by a few small scratches that not even bacta could fully get rid of. The scratches were clearly remnants of scars that showed that this merc was at the very least battle tested.

The alien's most prominent feature were the horns cropping out from his forehead. One of them was unevenly truncated short most likely as a result of some close call. The disfigurement must have been a source of some embarrassment for Lisk as he instinctively raised his unarmed hand to cover the stubbed horn after catching the Jedi's inspecting gaze.

> "This way," Lisk said, turning away as quickly as possible and leading their new fare up the ramp.

On the way up the ramp, the Jedi surreptitiously flicked his credit chip into the intake manifold of one of the turbines where it would be undoubtably ripped apart and then burned. It wouldn't do well to be tracked by future purchases.

> "One jump, eh?" the Devaronian asked over his shoulder as they wound through the crates in the cargo hold, "you may be disappointed.
> 
> All of these crates are packed with spent Tibanna packs for blasters, broken armor and weapons, used up gear. What else would you haul out from a war zone? We're probably going to one of the Ord worlds so it can all be recycled."
> 
> "An Ord world is fine," the Jedi said at his guide's back, following him up a steeply angled set of stairs onto a catwalk that ran the length of a dimly lit corridor lined with sealed hatches.

An Ord, or Ordinance/Resource/Depot World, was typically a sparsely populated planet reserved for stockpiling arms, weapons research and testing, and recycling as the merc described. Usually it would also feature a Republic outpost or garrison of some sort, which would be instrumental to the next leg of his journey. Moreover, it was unlikely that whoever was unlucky enough to have such an assignment on said outposts would recognize his presence there as suspicious.

> "It better be fine," the horned alien said, stopping and spinning to jab a slender finger into a control panel, opening one of the many hatches, "because once we get there, you're off."

The Jedi stepped inside the hatchway at the behest of the his guide's gesture. Turning to face the Devaronian, he made a point of obviously staring at the mercenary's broken horn. The merc scowled in reply and angrily slapped the control, closing the door between them. The Padawan allowed himself a self-amused smile as he turned back from the hatch. The grin was soon wiped away by the sorry state of the quarters.

Not even the dim lighting could hide the fact that rust had taken hold of most of the metal plating in the room. The viewport was marred with scratches, the overhead vent rattled as life support circulated air to the room, and the padding on the bunk looked like it was worn almost threadbare. It would have to do. He shed his cloak with a circular motion to fold in half and drop on the bed. The first hurdle of his journey was overcome.

Fatigue he had been bottling up since leaving the encampment had caught up with him and he followed his cloak onto the bed. He stared at the ceiling of the bunk and replayed the events of the last twelve hours over in his head. Part of him couldn't believe he was actually here. Mostly, though, he just felt tired.

The deck began to vibrate as power was diverted to the sublight engines to begin their task of lifting the freighter into orbit.


	4. Outbound Flight

His eyes popped open to the sound of a three tone chime coming from the hatchway. He sat up with a groan, massaging his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. How long had he been asleep? A sideways glance at the small viewport in the bulkhead and the rapidly thinning white and gray atmosphere beyond suggested that it was only a few minutes; they were still climbing.

A few minutes was a new record, though, considering the last few days. The Jedi thought to himself as he activated the door controls.

The hatch slid open to reveal the spindly form of the droid from the boarding ramp, its single red "eye" focused on him. A vocoder crackled to life from somewhere on its chest panel and addressed him,

> "Came to check if you were settlin' in alright." It was the voice of the Captain.
> 
> "Mm, nice of you to come in person," the only organic being on that deck replied dryly.

A metallic sounding chuckle came from the droid, or more rightly transmitted from the bridge,

> "What do you think of my ship?"
> 
> "It's a fine vessel," the runaway said, selling his white lie with a small smile. It wouldn't do well to come this far only to tossed out the nearest airlock.
> 
> "Right? Well, once we clear atmo' it'll be a couple hours before we can jump to Lightspeed. The Republic Fleet likes to keep a tight grip on its flight control area in a warzone. We're headed to Ord Janon. Hopefully that meets with your likin'."
> 
> "I suppose it'll have to. Thank you, Captain."

The droid began to slink down the hall using its three arms on the bulkheads as much as its ramshackle legs.

> "When we do jump, be prepared, it can be a bit rocky on this ship! You'll hear the alarm."

The Jedi perked an eyebrow at the retreating machine. The warning coupled with the imagery of the spiderlike droid crawling down the dark hole of the corridor prompted a small, involuntary shudder that was punctuated by a shake of the head and a eager closing of the hatchway.

Doing a sloppy about-face from the door, the Jedi crossed the deck to the viewport to examine their ascent.

Ord Janon would be a very suitable destination. To his knowledge, there was a relatively small Republic presence on the world and he should have no trouble getting the information he needed there.

She was serving on the Rigby. Last he remembered it was deployed somewhere in the Tingel Arm. A brief search of the records on Janon and he would know exactly where to go.

Atmosphere outside began to yield to the darkness of space, and the first thing he noticed was his reflection in the transparisteel of the viewport.

He grimaced at his disheveled and grizzled look. And he'd probably only look worse by the time he finally caught up with her. He would have to make up for it in what he would say.

And what was he going to say to her?

He sighed, looking down at the rusted rim of the viewport and averting his gaze from the emerging field of twinkling points of light. Perhaps he would lead with an apology for what a coward he was.

As if on cue, the ship began to yaw to starboard and bring the darkening night side of the world below into the field of the viewport. The movement and size of the planetary body was impossible to ignore. The dark side of the planet attempted to rival the heavens with twinkling of its own. Points of red and blue sparkles on its surface and could be considered beautiful to someone who didn't know that the show could only be attributed to blaster and cannonfire on the surface.

He was a coward for running away from all of that and was unsure if she would forgive him.

But most importantly, the Jedi silently hoped that she would forgive him for being too afraid for telling her how much she meant to him.


	5. Meditations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got rid of the block quotes. Looked awkward.

The clear creek water wound its way from the edge of a temperate forest toward the ocean, cutting through a seemingly endless beach of pearlescent white sand and around the oblong boulder that was currently being utilized by a man as a platform.

The man sat, cross legged, with his hands on his knees, palms upward toward the immaculate blue sky. Despite the beauty of his surroundings, he kept his eyes shut and allowed his other senses to keep him at ease. His practiced breathing pattern was complimented by the tantalizing aroma of the saltwater waves that lapped at the edge of the sand a few hundred meters in front of him. The skin not covered by his tunic was pleasantly warmed by the binary stars above. The babbling of the creak as it wound around his rock was only barely audible over the sound of the ocean and gusts of breeze that accompanied them.

In one of his hands balanced a rock he had fished out of the ocean’s grasp, where it had previously been subjected to diligent polishing by way of the ebb and flow of salty waves. The natural shining had stripped the rock of its unremarkable outer layer and left its surface speckled with spots that glistened under the brilliant daylight of the afternoon. Curling his fingers around the rock, he could feel a low hum of energy coming from it.

He could almost feel her sitting there with him, and for a moment he was truly happy.

He heard a voice behind him. It was female, but it wasn't the one he wanted to hear. It was too alien, shrill, and young.

"The captain isn't going to like you doing that."

Instantly the waves and endless beach receded into the far bulkhead, the binary stars above morphed back into the occasionally flickering illumination bank, and the boulder beneath him turned back into one of the crates occupying the cargo hold. He sighed and opened his eyes to look down into the compound ones of his interrupter.

It was the diminutive Rodian he had seen when he came on board. The small alien returned his stare with her hands on then hips of her mechanic jumpsuit. Even though small, the uniform still hung off her slender frame like a banner. That is, if the banner was for some type of motor oil, since the only symbols on the face of this flag were seemingly scrawled in engine coolant and grease.

"Do what?" The passenger asked innocently as he stared down hundreds of his reflections in the alien's multi-lensed corneas.

"Be up on the crates!" The Rodian all but squealed in reply, unlatching her hand from one side of her hips to jab in his direction.

The man let out a slight scoff, shaking his head to himself before replying,

"Something tells me your captain doesn't make it down here that often anyways."

"No, he doesn't."

"So what's the problem?"

The was no response, just a seemingly empty stare back in his direction. After a few seconds, the Rodian scrambled up on top of a nearby crate and mimicked his sitting position and continued to look at him. The man may have laughed out loud if he wasn't still slightly annoyed that she had interrupted his meditation. The long break in conversation only added to his frustration.

"Well?" He asked sternly, causing the aliens twin antenna to jerk back slightly before bobbling back to their original slight sway as she studied their passenger.

"You're a Jedi, aren't you?"

The man arched an eyebrow, unable to conceal his surprise at the question. He had hidden his Lightsaber in his quarters shortly after coming aboard and his current outfit was hardly traditional. He could lie, but what was the point?

"How did you know?"

The Rodian just shrugged her shoulders slightly, "I just do. So you were fighting back there on the planet?"

"...I was, yes." The Jedi answered, his tone still frought with skepticism.

"Why?" The alien girl asked, the pair of antennae atop her head curled forward in a show of curiousity.

"Why?” He repeated, “What do you mean?"

"Well isn't it just a bunch of fields of dirt and ashes now? Why would anyone fight over that?"

The Jedi fought back a mixed expression. He wasn’t sure whether to be amused or offended at her description of the planet. Eventually, he decided to humor her,

"It mostly used to be farmland. But under all that 'ash' the core - or center of the planet - is actually fairly rich with Doonium," he explained, gesturing toward the nearest bulkhead, "it's what most starship hulls are plated with and a very valuable resource."

"Most military ships," she pointed out, "not this one."

He glanced up in thought a moment before admitting, "hm, you're right. Smart."

The compliment solicited a Rodian equivalent of a smile from the kid, her thin green lips curled upward slightly causing her small snout to wrinkle.

"So you got tired of fighting for so long and ran away?"

"I guess you could say that," the Jedi answered quickly with a frown. The question wasn't meant as an accusation, but it still caused a pang of guilt. He decided to redirect the line of questioning away from the subject, "so what is someone so young doing on a cargo ship?"

"I'm thirteen!" The Rodian retorted, sitting up. Her antenna snapping to attention in a similar manner.

Holding his hands up as if shielding himself from her offense, he finally cracked and let out a small smirk,

"Hey, sorry, sorry!"

The young crew member settled down before answering his question, "I'm really good at fixing things. I keep this ship flying. Captain found me on Ord Janon and took me in."

"Ord Janon? So I guess we're headed home for you, hm?"

The Rodian merely bobbed her boney shoulders in a sharp shrug. She adopted a faraway look as she inclined her gaze to one of the catwalks above. He figured he could take the moment to stealthily pocket his holopad. He was wrong.

"What's that?!" The young mechanic all but screeched, causing the Jedi to wince.

"Huh? Oh, a holopad." He did his best to sound as indifferent as possible.

"What's on it?"

"Nothing," he said, then added, "its broken."

"I can fix it!" she declared, stretching out a hand.

He instinctively slapped a hand over his pocket in a cupping motion, "No! I mean, it's alright. Thank you, anyways."

"Fine," she huffed, scooting toward the edge of the crate and dropping back to her feet on the deck. He could easily detect her anger and being turned away so forcefully. All he could muster was a sigh as she began to leave.

After activating the hatchway, she turned to glare at his back and continue,

"I need to work on the engines anyway. Have you back quick for your war. Don't want the droidies to be one planet closer to Coruscant."

The Jedi let out a dissatisfied grunt, speaking over his shoulder, "Anyone ever tell you that you're too smart for your own good?"

He felt the anger dissolve from her presence as she dryly responded, "Yes."

She punctuated the remark by shutting the hatch between them, leaving him alone in the cargo hold.


End file.
